In his poem “Wanted” composed after Lolita was abducted from him Humbert Humbert (the narrator and main character in VN’s novel Lolita, 1955) mentions an old perfume called Soleil Vert:
My Dolly, my folly! Her eyes were vair ,
And never closed when I kissed her.
Know an old perfume called Soleil Vert?
Are you from Paris, mister?
Humbert’s American uncle was a great traveler in perfumes. An old perfume called Soleil Vert (Green Sun) seems to combine les feux d'un soleil monotone (the fires of a monotonous sun) with le parfum des verts tamariniers (the perfume of the green tamarinds) in Baudelaire’s sonnet Parfum exotique (“Exotic Perfume”):
Quand, les deux yeux fermés, en un soir chaud d'automne,
Je respire l'odeur de ton sein chaleureux,
Je vois se dérouler des rivages heureux
Qu'éblouissent les feux d'un soleil monotone;
Une île paresseuse où la nature donne
Des arbres singuliers et des fruits savoureux;
Des hommes dont le corps est mince et vigoureux,
Et des femmes dont l'oeil par sa franchise étonne.
Guidé par ton odeur vers de charmants climats,
Je vois un port rempli de voiles et de mâts
Encor tout fatigués par la vague marine,
Pendant que le parfum des verts tamariniers,
Qui circule dans l'air et m'enfle la narine,
Se mêle dans mon âme au chant des mariniers.
When, with both my eyes closed, on a hot autumn night,
I inhale the fragrance of your warm breast
I see happy shores spread out before me,
On which shines a dazzling and monotonous sun;
A lazy isle to which nature has given
Singular trees, savory fruits,
Men with bodies vigorous and slender,
And women in whose eyes shines a startling candor.
Guided by your fragrance to these charming countries,
I see a port filled with sails and rigging
Still utterly wearied by the waves of the sea,
While the perfume of the green tamarinds,
That permeates the air, and elates my nostrils,
Is mingled in my soul with the sailors' chanteys.
(tr. W. Aggeler)
In his novel Five Weeks in a Balloon (1869) Jules Verne several times mentions the tamarind-trees:
The aeronauts took careful and complete note of the orographic conformation of the country. The three ramifications mentioned, of which the Duthumi forms the first link, are separated by immense longitudinal plains. These elevated summits consist of rounded cones, between which the soil is bestrewn with erratic blocks of stone and gravelly bowlders. The most abrupt declivity of these mountains confronts the Zanzibar coast, but the western slopes are merely inclined planes. The depressions in the soil are covered with a black, rich loam, on which there is a vigorous vegetation. Various water-courses filter through, toward the east, and work their way onward to flow into the Kingani, in the midst of gigantic clumps of sycamore, tamarind, calabash, and palmyra trees. (Chapter 13)
On Monday the weather changed completely. Rain began to fall with extreme violence, and not only had the balloon to resist the power of this deluge, but also the increase of weight which it caused by wetting the whole machine, car and all. This continuous shower accounted for the swamps and marshes that formed the sole surface of the country. Vegetation reappeared, however, along with the mimosas, the baobabs, and the tamarind-trees. (Chapter 38)
John Ray, Jr. (the author of the Foreword to Humbert’s manuscript) and Soleil Vert may hint at Jules Verne’s novel Le Rayon vert (“The Green Ray,” 1882). Its heroes are trying to observe the green ray (a rare optical phenomenon that occurs shortly after sunset or before sunrise, when a green spot is visible for a short period of time above the sun, or a green ray shoots up from the sunset point) in Scotland. The green ray is believed to give a heightened perception to those who view it. When you see the green ray, you can read your own feelings and others too. After numerous attempts are obstructed by clouds, flocks of birds or distant boat sails, the phenomenon is eventually visible but the heroes, finding love in each other's eyes, don't pay attention to the horizon.
The action in Jules Verne’s novel takes place in Scotland and brings to mind Scotland Yard. In his poem “Wanted” Humbert addresses a police officer:
Officer, officer, there they go
In the rain, where that lighted store is!
And her socks are white, and I love her so,
And her name is Haze, Dolores.
Officer, officer, there they are
Dolores Haze and her lover!
Whip out your gun and follow that car.
Now tumble out, and take cover.
The characters in Lolita include Shirley Holmes (the headmistress of Camp Q. whose name hints at Conan Doyle’s hero) and her son Charlie (Lolita’s first lover, a namesake of Charlie Chaplin). When Humbert revisits Ramsdale in 1952, Mrs. Chatfield tells him that Charlie Holmes has just been killed in Korea:
Feeling I was losing my time, I drove energetically to the downtown hotel where I had arrived with a new bag more than five years before. I took a room, made two appointments by telephone, shaved, bathed, put on black clothes and went down for a drink in the bar. Nothing had changed. The barroom was suffused with the same dim, impossible garnet-red light that in Europe years ago went with low haunts, but here meant a bit of atmosphere in a family hotel. I sat at the same little table where at the very start of my stay, immediately after becoming Charlotte’s lodger, I had thought fit to celebrate the occasion by suavely sharing with her half a bottle of champagne, which had fatally conquered her poor brimming heart. As then, a moon-faced waiter was arranging with stellar care fifty sherries on a round tray for a wedding party. Murphy-Fantasia, this time. It was eight minutes to three. As I walked though the lobby, I had to skirt a group of ladies who with mille grâces were taking leave of each other after a luncheon party. With a harsh cry of recognition, one pounced upon me. She was a stout, short woman in pearl-gray, with a long, gray, slim plume to her small hat. It was Mrs. Chatfield. She attacked me with a fake smile, all aglow with evil curiosity. (Had I done to Dolly, perhaps, what Frank Laselle, a fifty-year-old mechanic, had done o eleven-year-old Sally Horner in 1948?) Very soon I had that avid glee well under control. She thought I was in California. How was - ? With exquisite pleasure I informed her that my stepdaughter had just married a brilliant young mining engineer with a hush-hush job in the Northwest. She said she disapproved of such early marriages, she would never let her Phillys, who was now eighteen -
“Oh yes, of course,” I said quietly. “I remember Phyllis. Phyllis and Camp Q. Yes, of course. By the way, did she ever tell you how Charlie Holmes debauched there his mother’s little charges?”
Mrs. Chatfield’s already broken smile now disintegrated completely.
“For shame,” she cried, “for shame, Mr. Humbert! The poor boy has just been killed in Korea.”
I said didn’t she think “vient de,” with the infinitive, expressed recent events so much more neatly than the English “just,” with the past? But I had to be trotting off, I said. (2.33)
Humbert thinks of the French phrase vient de mourir. In his autobiography Speak, Memory (1951) VN describes his first erotic experience and quotes the words of his father, "Tolstoy vient de mourir:"
High-principled but rather simple Lenski, who was abroad for the first time, had some trouble keeping the delights of sightseeing in harmony with his pedagogical duties. We took advantage of this and guided him toward places where our parents might not have allowed us to go. He could not resist the Wintergarten, for instance, and so, one night, we found ourselves there, drinking ice-chocolate in an orchestra box. The show developed on the usual lines: a juggler in evening clothes; then a woman, with flashes of rhinestones on her bosom, trilling a concert aria in alternating effusions of green and red light; then a comic on roller skates. Between him and a bicycle act (of which more later) there was an item on the program called “The Gala Girls,” and with something of the shattering and ignominious physical shock I had experienced when coming that cropper on the rink, I recognized my American ladies in the garland of linked, shrill-voiced, shameless “girls,” all rippling from left to right, and then from right to left, with a rhythmic rising of ten identical legs that shot up from ten corollas of flounces. I located my Louise’s face—and knew at once that it was all over, that I had lost her, that I would never forgive her for singing so loudly, for smiling so redly, for disguising herself in that ridiculous way so unlike the charm of either “proud Creoles” or “questionable señoritas.” I could not stop thinking of her altogether, of course, but the shock seems to have liberated in me a certain inductive process, for I soon noticed that any evocation of the feminine form would be accompanied by the puzzling discomfort already familiar to me. I asked my parents about it (they had come to Berlin to see how we were getting along) and my father ruffled the German newspaper he had just opened and replied in English (with the parody of a possible quotation—a manner of speech he often adopted in order to get going): “That, my boy, is just another of nature’s absurd combinations, like shame and blushes, or grief and red eyes.” “Tolstoy vient de mourir,” he suddenly added, in another, stunned voice, turning to my mother.
“Da chto tï [something like “good gracious”]!” she exclaimed in distress, clasping her hands in her lap. “Pora domoy [Time to go home],” she concluded, as if Tolstoy’s death had been the portent of apocalyptic disasters. (Chapter Ten, 3)
Leo Tolstoy died on Nov. 7, 1910 (OS). Humbert was born in 1910, in Paris. Btw., in the Russian version (1967) of Lolita Gumbert Gumbert's sarcasm is much more venomous:
"В самом деле", сказал я (пользуясь дивной свободою, свойственной сновидениям). "Вот так судьба! Бедный мальчик пробивал нежнейшие, невосстановимейшие перепоночки, прыскал гадючьим ядом - и ничего, жил превесело, да ещё получил посмертный орденок. Впрочем, извините меня, мне пора к адвокату".
In Gumbert's nonsense verse that he composed for Lolita the hummingbirds fly on airplanes:
Я припомнил довольно изящные, чепушиные стишки, которые я для нее писал, когда она была ребенком. "Не чепушиные", говорила она насмешливо, '"а просто чепуха":
Пролетают колибри на аэропланах,
Проходит змея, держа руки в карманах...
или:
Так ведет себя странно с крольчихою кролик,
Что кролиководы смеются до колик.
I recalled the rather charming nonsense verse I used to write her when she was a child: “nonsense,” she used to say mockingly, “is correct.”
The Squire and his Squirrel, the Rabs and their Rabbits
Have certain obscure and peculiar habits.
Male hummingbirds make the most exquisite rockets.
The snake when he walks holds his hands in his pockets… (2.25)
The hummingbirds flying on airplanes bring to mind A za nim komariki na vozdushnom sharike (And past him the little mosquitoes flying in a little balloon) in Korney Chukovski's poem Tarakanishche ("The Cockroach," 1921).
The tamarind-trees in Baudelaire's sonnet and in Jules Verne's novel remind one of Tamariny sady (Tamara Gardens) in VN's novel Priglashenie na kazn' ("Invitation to a Beheading," 1935):
Там-то, на той маленькой фабрике, работала Марфинька, - полуоткрыв влажные губы, целилась ниткой в игольное ушко: "Здравствуй, Цинциннатик!" - и вот начались те упоительные блуждания в очень, очень просторных (так что даже случалось - холмы в отдалении были дымчаты от блаженства своего отдаления) Тамариных Садах, где в три ручья плачут без причины ивы, и тремя каскадами, с небольшой радугой над каждым, ручьи свергаются в озеро, по которому плывет лебедь рука об руку со своим отражением. Ровные поляны, рододендрон, дубовые рощи, весёлые садовники в зелёных сапогах, день-деньской играющие в прятки; какой-нибудь грот, какая-нибудь идиллическая скамейка, на которой три шутника оставили три аккуратных кучки (уловка - подделка из коричневой крашеной жести), - какой-нибудь оленёнок, выскочивший в аллею и тут же у вас на глазах превратившийся в дрожащие пятна солнца, - вот они были каковы, эти сады! Там, там - лепет Марфиньки, её ноги в белых чулках и бархатных туфельках, холодная грудь и розовые поцелуи со вкусом лесной земляники. Вот бы увидеть отсюда - хотя бы древесные макушки, хотя бы гряду отдаленных холмов...
There, in that little factory, worked Marthe; her moist lips half open, aiming a thread at the eye of a needle. ‘Hi, Cincinnatik!’ And so began those rapturous wanderings in the very, very spacious (so much so that even the hills in the distance would be hazy from the ecstasy of their remoteness) Tamara Gardens, where, for no reason, the willows weep into three brooks, and the brooks, in three cascades, each with its own small rainbow, tumble into the lake, where a swan floats arm in arm with its reflection. The level lawns, the rhododendrons, the oak groves, the merry gardeners in their green jackboots playing hide-and-seek the whole day through; some grotto, some idyllic bench, on which three jokers had left three neat little heaps (it’s a trick — they are imitations made of brown painted tin), some baby deer, bounding into the avenue and before your very eyes turning into trembling mottles of sunlight — that is what those gardens were like! There, there is Marthe’s lisping prattle, her white stockings and velvet slippers, her cool breast and her rosy kisses tasting of wild strawberries. If only one could see from here — at least the treetops, at least the distant range of hills… (Chapter Two)
The main character of VN's novel, Cincinnatus C. lives in the world of souls transparent to one other:
Цинциннат родился от безвестного прохожего и детство провёл в большом общежитии за Стропью (только уже на третьем десятке он познакомился мимоходом со щебечущей, щупленькой, еще такой молодой на вид Цецилией Ц., зачавшей его ночью на Прудах, когда была совсем девочкой). С ранних лет, чудом смекнув опасность, Цинциннат бдительно изощрялся в том, чтобы скрыть некоторую свою особость. Чужих лучей не пропуская, а потому, в состоянии покоя, производя диковинное впечатление одинокого темного препятствия в этом мире прозрачных друг для дружки душ, он научился все-таки притворяться сквозистым, для чего прибегал к сложной системе как бы оптических обманов, но стоило на мгновение забыться, не совсем так внимательно следить за собой, за поворотами хитро освещенных плоскостей души, как сразу поднималась тревога. В разгаре общих игр сверстники вдруг от него отпадали, словно почуя, что ясность его взгляда да голубизна висков - лукавый отвод и что в действительности Цинциннат непроницаем. Случалось, учитель среди наступившего молчания, в досадливом недоумении, собрав и наморщив все запасы кожи около глаз, долго глядел на него и наконец спрашивал:
- Да что с тобой, Цинциннат?
Тогда Цинциннат брал себя в руки и, прижав к груди, относил в безопасное место.
Cincinnatus was the son of an unknown transient and spent his childhood in a large institution beyond the Strop River (only in his twenties did he casually meet twittering, tiny, still so young-looking Cecilia C., who had conceived him one night at the Ponds when she was still in her teens). From his earliest years Cincinnatus, by some strange and happy chance comprehending his danger, carefully managed to conceal a certain peculiarity. He was impervious to the rays of others, and therefore produced when off his guard a bizarre impression, as of a lone dark obstacle in this world of souls transparent to one other; he learned however to feign translucence, employing a complex system of optical illusions, as it were — but he had only to forget himself, to allow a momentary lapse in self control, in the manipulation of cunningly illuminated facets and angles at which he turned his soul, and immediately there was alarm. In the midst of the excitement of a game his coevals would suddenly forsake him, as if they had sensed that his lucid gaze and the azure of his temples were but a crafty deception and that actually 'Cincinnatus was opaque. Sometimes, in the midst of a sudden silence, the teacher, in chagrined perplexity, would gather up the reserves of skin around his eyes, gaze at him for a long while, and finally say:
‘What is wrong with you, Cincinnatus?’
Then Cincinnatus would take hold of himself, and clutching his own self to his breast, would remove that self to a safe place. (Chapter II)
In a letter of Aug. 30, 1898, to Lydia Avilov Chekhov quotes the Russian saying chuzhaya dusha – potyomki (you cannot read in another’s soul):
Что же касается всего прочего — равнодушия, скуки, того, что талантливые люди живут и любят только в мире своих образов и фантазий, — могу сказать одно: чужая душа потёмки.
In O Chekhove (“On Chekhov”), the first memoir essay in his book Na kladbishchakh (“At the Cemeteries,” 1921), Vasiliy Nemirovich-Danchenko compares Chekhov’s laughter to luch v potyomkakh (a ray in the dark):
Смеялся он редко, но когда смеялся, всем становилось весело, точно луч в потёмках.
He laughed seldom, but when he laughed, everybody was merry, like a ray in the dark.
In a letter of Feb. 18, 1889, to Leontiev-Shcheglov (a fellow writer who nicknamed Chekhov Potyomkin) Chekhov says that he is not Potyomkin, but Cincinnatus:
Голова моя занята мыслями о лете и даче. Денно и нощно мечтаю о хуторе. Я не Потёмкин, а Цинцинат. Лежанье на сене и пойманный на удочку окунь удовлетворяют моё чувство гораздо осязательнее, чем рецензии и аплодирующая галерея. Я, очевидно, урод и плебей.
In the Russian Lolita one of Quilty’s addresses is “P. O. Tyomkin, Odessa, Texas:”
Я замечал, что, как только ему начинало казаться, что его плутни становятся чересчур заумными, даже для такого зксперта, как я, он меня приманивал опять загадкой полегче. "Арсен Люпэн" был очевиден полуфранцузу, помнившему детективные рассказы, которыми он увлекался в детстве; и едва ли следовало быть знатоком кинематографа, чтобы раскусить пошлую подковырку в адресе: "П. О. Темкин, Одесса, Техас".
I noticed that whenever he felt his enigmas were becoming too recondite, even for such a solver as I, he would lure me back with an easy one. “Arsne Lupin” was obvious to a Frenchman who remembered the detective stories of his youth; and one hardly had to be a Coleridgian to appreciate the trite poke of “A. Person, Porlock, England.” (2.23)